


And so we are Caught Spinning

by Lacertae



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Omnics, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Team Talon (Overwatch), Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 05:27:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14537643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacertae/pseuds/Lacertae
Summary: *Maximilien/Widowmaker* There is nothing of Widowmaker in the woman he’s holding in his lap, and the hunger he feels, gnawing at his circuits, is overwhelming.Talon can have their sniper, their Widowmaker, but here, safe within four walls, Maximilien has Amelie all to himself.





	And so we are Caught Spinning

**Author's Note:**

> I love this ship so Im glad i had this chance to write for them hehehe, thank you tumblr user araignee-du-soir for the chance ;3

**And so we are Caught Spinning**

 

It takes Maximilien a while to come to terms with his own interest.

He is no stranger to physical intimacy, though he is also aware that there is quite the difference between the way omnics and humans interface in that sense, and though he knows how it works, he never had the means, nor the interest, to pursue further knowledge.

Until she waltzed in his life, that is.

The tinge of her skin makes her noticeable, foreign to the eye –it is something that attracted Maximilien’s attention at first, a fleeting glance, a passing curiosity he got over quickly.

That was only the start, because his curiosity is like a whirlwind, like a _toupie_ , spinning and circling needlessly, seeking to know more.

Widowmaker, Amelie LaCroix, who should have never crossed paths with him, and yet… and yet. He is caught, and sent spinning.

When he holds her close, her skin is as cold as his own, and though Maximilien’s chassis can heat up, his fans and core regulating his temperature, hers never does. He touches her hand, folds her fingers into his own, brings them to his lips for an omnic kiss; he embraces her and her body remains unresponsive, though her expression becomes less and less so.

It is like a drug, his circuits never get enough of her presence, and though he is aware he is willingly walking into a trap of his own making, Amelie makes it all the easier to fall, and spin, and spin –and so he does. He falls, and spins to her, leads her into a waltz, so they are both dancing and spinning, and it feels less out of his control, if he is not the only one washed away by the current.

Enticing, and beautiful, and so cold, and yet –her words are sharp, her wit sharper, and and those times when her gaze softens into the distance only serve to drag him closer, wishing to know more, sate this curiosity that is so much like thirst.

His first kiss against her lips has her startle, for a moment delicate in his arms, but when she does not push away, hesitant fingers curling around his tie to tug him closer, Maximilien feels like this thirst will never truly end.

It will consume him, and he gladly will allow it.

***

She is as beautiful as she is deathly.

One minute she is Widowmaker –standing straight, rifle slung over her shoulder, hair tied in a long ponytail, turning her back to the beautiful view of the city, to that dot in the distance that is her target, now laying on the ground, dead. The next she sees him watching, and her face lights up, that unique expression that she reserves for him, and him alone –Amelie. It lasts a fraction of a second, but he sees it before it fades back into complacency.

“Congratulations on another successful mission.”

“I never miss my target.” She walks past him and he follows her.

There is tension in her shoulders and he notices it, but stays silent. It is only when they are back to the hotel, safely behind closed doors, that he mentions it, brushes one hand through her hair as she lets it down, and offers her a massage.

Maximilien admires the way she offers him her back, a show of vulnerability and trust. If he had need for breath, she would steal it.

Her skin is soft, pliant under his touch, her naked shoulders not an uncommon sight, but her frame arches into him as he kneads against tense knots, smoothens them out, and the sound she makes rushes through his frame like a lightning bolt, and… he falters.

“Don’t stop,” she murmurs, her voice languid, and his forehead array flickers off for a second before he finds himself enough to continue.

Later, he replays that moan in his mind, over and over, and every time his circuits sizzle, leaving him shaken. It is new, but as with everything that is about Amelie, Maximilien finds himself caught and ensnared further, and willingly so.

He wishes to hear her moan for him again, and not just once, and the thought spirals down, fractures in his mind, processes overheating with possibilities, and instances, and thoughts, and…

It is not hard, to let himself spin.

Maximilian takes his time. He needs to find the right tools, the right person to trust with his body, but he chases the thought to completion. A month after that fateful day, they meet again, this time in Monaco.

Their mission is easy, as it always is, a person with a name neither will remember by the next day, but what they remember is the trip back to Maximilien’s estate. There is something in the air that feels new, but of the two only Maximilien knows why. Widowmaker melts into Amelie, and her glances at him are curious, confused.

He holds the door of the car open for her, and watches her face as she glances up at his house, the same awed expression she has every time she returns, and it only fuels the heat within his core.

When they get to his bedroom, he sits on the bed and waits for her to join him, his core humming with anticipation. “Do you trust me, my dear?” he caresses her full lips with one thumb, gently.

She frowns, lips tilted in a small pout. “I trust you with my name,” she sounds confused but she leans into his touch, his servo warmer than her skin. “Why do you ask?”

Maximilien sighs, caresses Amelie’s lips, and feels her gasp, her mouth parting slightly, when he flickers a lick of omnic energy from his fingertips right to her lips. He watches as her eyes widen, just a bit, as he lets his fingers move to the swell of her throat and then lower to the curve of her bosom.

“Maximilien…?”

Her voice is hesitant, but there is something there, almost hopeful, and his core clenches –he wonders why he never thought about this, about offering her this.

He will make up for the lost time.

Maximilien runs a finger over her chest, omnic energy leaving behind sparkles on her clothed skin, and he watches as she looks down at it, then back at him, expression lost yet longing, and he dares to offer a little more pressure, rubs a thumb against the peak of her breasts even as he tugs her closer.

Amelie murmurs something, but her hand shake as she caresses down his face plate, gaze intense as Maximilien guides her on his lap, thighs spread over his, both hands free to explore, tilting his head so he can bring their faces together, lips cold against his mouth piece, omnic energy flickering across them in a kiss.

His hands dip down the curve of her breasts, brushing past her nipples, and again he sends sparks of energy across her body, chases every tiny tremor, presses their fronts together as his hands run down her legs, over her thighs. There is softness there, no metal, no junctures or nodes, but pliant skin that reminds him of how very human she is, even if it is as cold as his own chassis.

When he slides one hand between her thighs, she exhales softly, eyelids fluttering. Amelie arches into him when he rubs his fingers against her, and Maximilien feels his own fans spin faster, chassis heating up as he continues to stare at her face, awed at the raw, open expression she wears –so very human, so very Amelie.

There is nothing of Widowmaker in the woman he’s holding in his lap, and the hunger he feels, gnawing at his circuits, is overwhelming.

Talon can have their sniper, their Widowmaker, but here, safe within four walls, Maximilien has Amelie all to himself.

His hand slides inside her pants, and she makes a soft, startled sound, before her trembling hands cup his face. He caresses her soft folds, fingers dipping lower, not inside her but almost, and she muffles a desperate moan against his mouth piece, kisses him hard and breathlessly.

Amelie’s shoulders shake with every careful, teasing touch, and Maximilien, heady with desire, culls more processes to focus fully on her.

He pets and strokes her, dips past her folds yet still restrains from dipping inside, marvels when he feels wetness slick his fingers, and seeks to chase it, finds her clit and teases it with gentle, careful presses, yet his hand vibrates with omnic energy, pours it from his servos and from his mouth piece, kissing her back, starved for her moans.

“Oh, Maximilien–” half-lidded eyes part to stare at him, and the desire he sees in them is his undoing. There is liquid fire travelling through his circuits, new and novel, protocols he never needed before now top priority, and when he pushes one finger inside her, he watches as she throws her head back and her lips part in a noiseless gasp, hands falling to grab his shoulders as she ruts into him, seeking more.

She tightens around his finger, like she wants to keep him there forever, and he does not want to stop.

He caresses her with short tugs and pulls, inches inside her and then retreats, then again, and again.

He is too far gone to register the way she feels warm inside, all he wants is to watch her arch as he fingers her, one thumb constantly on her clit, rubbing its underside and vibrating against it, coaxing more wet sounds from her and more moans, his name broken like a prayer, and he thinks…

This dance, spinning, falling hopelessly, helplessly, wanting to be buried so deeply within her he never resurfaces, is part of the appeal, and he wishes no respite.

Maximilien rolls them over, watches as she falls on the mattress, limbs languid and spread on the satin sheets, hair a halo around her face, and… oh, there is the faintest blush on her cheeks, her nipples hard as he runs his free hand over them, teases her further, watches as she tugs her pants down with tiny, frantic movements, reveals herself to him, her white underwear wet with slick as she tugs it down and away from her, eyes wide and full of want for him, like he’s Amelie’s entire focus.

“Maximilien… why–” she arches into him when he returns to petting her, one hand massaging a breast, the other her folds.

He adds a second finger, omnic energy so strong it makes his hand vibrate, stretching and scissoring and pushing inside, her words broken in a louder, startled moan.

“Allow me to offer you this, my dear,” he murmurs, forehead array powering down as he admires her frame under his own. “Do you trust me?”

“With…” she gasps, falters, grabs his neck to tug him closer, even as he continues to finger her, “with my name, with my _self_ , with… everything I have… oh, please–”

Her legs wrap around him, but Maximilien disentangles from her, just enough that he can slip his fingers out, shushes her even as he unbuttons his pants, hands not as steady as they should be.

He feels… protocols shifting to expand, his circuits burning with a newfound need, and when his new accessory is out in the open, polished and metallic and already warm, Amelie’s eyes widen at its sight.

There is hunger in her stare, desire for him as much as desire for his cock. “You did this… for me?”

He does not answer, but they both know it is the truth.

She caresses the base reverently, hand becoming familiar with the new, riveting toy, and he pushes into the touch without meaning to, sparkles of pleasure making him falter.

“Such beautiful gift,” she murmurs, both appeased and sultry, almost coy, her lips tugged in a smirk. “I want it.”

Amelie tugs him closer to her, her hand still wrapped around his cock as she nudges it against her folds, and Maximilien hesitates, dizzy with sensations and pleasure, the tip of his cock almost in her, but not quite, and…

“Oh–” he holds himself up against the mattress, overwhelmed, and this time it’s Amelie who guides him, hands and kisses and her pliant body warming under him, colour blossoming on her cheeks as she accepts him inside her in a slow, even thrust.

He aches.

He never thought it would feel like this –overwhelming, like bliss, like recharging but different, like wireplay, and though she is not hot, he fears he will burn, sizzle and die.

“Maximilien… please…” her hands nail at his shoulders, insistent, demanding, and…

What else can he do, if not give?

The first few thrusts are uncoordinated, messy, clumsy; he never had to deal with this, and the heat, the feeling, the pleasure, Amelie so tight and warm around his cock, her flustered cheeks so enticing– it is all so new, he can barely deal. He would be embarrassed for his own failure, if he was not so taken, optical receptors falling shut as he recalibrates, shaking.

Slowly, it becomes easier. He thrusts into her slowly, savouring every tiny gasp she makes, her breathless demands for more, the halo of her hair as he kisses her. She is tight around him, and he fills her up, stretches her, rubs deliciously against her until they are both drunk with pleasure. Their hands become entangled together, like so many times before but now it’s different, their linked bodies heating up until Maximilien feels like he’s burning alive, and he’s dragging her down with him in the bonfire, spinning and dancing until they turn into ashes.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs.

She tightens around his cock every time he slides into her, the sounds she makes filling the air around them. Amelie moans, groans and arches into him, and he does not stop, would not stop even if he could, and when she begs for him, thighs splayed apart, meeting his thrusts with her body, taking him in deeper, all he can do is call her name, lets her steal his mind, the heat consuming him alive.

Her climax comes slowly, cresting as he thrusts into her, and her fingers tighten around his own, her lips seeking his mouth piece, moaning and kissing him eyelids fluttering and falling shut, and Maximilien falls on top of her, cradles her frame underneath his own, desperate to give her more, let her ride her pleasure, wants to see her come again, thirsty and possessed for the pleasure they’re sharing, and–

Underneath his chassis, he feels her heart flutter strongly, its beat travelling to him.

Maximilien overloads with a muffled gasp, buried so deep inside Amelie he feels he will never resurface, processes crashing as he shudders, servos heavy, sluggish and overwhelmed.

Vaguely, he feels her arms wrap around him, cradling him in a tight embrace, their frames matching again, both sated and warm, her skin tingling and his servos flickering with leftover energy.

He is still inside her, her legs wrapped around him, and he is pretty sure neither want to move.

Not yet.


End file.
